The Neighbor Next Door (Part 2)
Previously:
Fe didn’t plan to fall for her younger, street-savvy neighbor, but Malik’s deep voice, Caribbean swagger, and quiet intensity are getting harder to ignore.
I didn’t expect to see him again so soon.
It had only been two days since Malik stood in my kitchen bleeding and full of swagger, but that boy had a way of slipping into my thoughts like a familiar song. I’d catch myself glancing across the courtyard toward his unit, pretending not to notice when his door opened. Like clockwork, he was always out on the porch, shirtless, low-slung jeans hanging just right, cornrows fresh and glinting under the afternoon sun.
Today, I was out front watering the small patch of garden I kept by the steps. I could feel his eyes on me before I even looked up.
“Yuh ever look like blessings drop pon yuh,” he called out.
I turned, hose still in hand, and found him leaning against his car, arms folded, a lazy smirk on his lips. He was wearing a white tank top that clung to his chest and hung loose around the waist, and those damn eyes of his- sharp, amused, bold- were fixed on me like he owned the moment.
“And you’re always out here acting like you’ve got nothing better to do,” I said, keeping my voice calm, unaffected.
“Maybe I don’t,” he said with a shrug. “Or maybe I like the view.”
I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile. “You flirt with all your neighbors, or just me?”
He walked over slowly, casually, like the sidewalk was made for his stride. “Only the ones who got class… curves… and that good energy. Real woman vibes.”
He was close again. Not quite in my space- but almost. I could smell his cologne- something woody and dark- and underneath it, something distinctly male. I turned back to the garden, pretending to focus on the roses, though my hand had slowed on the hose.
“I don’t need your sweet talk,” I murmured.
“But yuh like it,” he said. “Mi a talk sense, right?”
His voice was low, just over my shoulder, and I felt the warmth of him even though he wasn’t touching me. I stiffened, my heartbeat traitorously loud in my ears.
“I think you’re used to girls who melt the second you look at them,” I said, keeping my back to him. “I’m not that girl.”
He chuckled. “That’s why mi like yuh, Miss Proper. You got discipline. But even strong woman get weak sometimes.”
I turned around then, staring him down. “What do you want from me, Malik?”
He looked me over slowly, deliberately. “Right now? Mi want fi help yuh.”
“Help?”
“Mi hear dat shelf drop earlier.” He nodded toward my open window. “Yuh did a cuss up a storm. Mi did tink someting heavy drop pon yuh or supp’m.”
I sighed, annoyed that he heard. “I was trying to reorganize my closet. The shelf gave out. And no, I wasn’t hurt.”
“So let mi help. I ain’t good at stayin’ still anyway,” he said, already brushing past me toward the front door.
I didn’t stop him.
Inside, he moved through my space like he’d been there before- casual but observant. I led him to the bedroom, and his eyes scanned everything, lingering on the satin sheets, the stack of books beside the bed, the heels neatly lined up in the corner.
“Nice vibe,” he said, running his fingers along the dresser. “Real feminine. Real you.”
“I’ll get the tools,” I said quickly, needing space to breathe.
When I returned, he had his tank top off, muscles shifting under smooth brown skin as he crouched near the broken shelf. The sight was almost too much. Every controlled breath I took felt like a betrayal.
He worked in silence for a moment, humming something low and rhythmic, until finally, he looked over his shoulder at me.
“Di way yuh a pree mi, look like yuh mouth already set fi mi,” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“I’m watching to make sure you don’t break anything,” I snapped.
But I couldn’t deny what I was feeling. The air was thick, electric. And when he stood, brushing his hands together, he stepped in closer than he needed to- again.
“Yuh start trust mi yet?” he asked.
“No.”
“But yuh think ‘bout me.”
I didn’t answer. That was answer enough.
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
“Mi been thinkin’ ‘bout kissin’ yuh,” he said plainly.
I stared at him, heat flooding my chest. My voice, when it came, was breathless. “You shouldn’t.”
He whispered, “Mi can wait. But when mi kiss yuh? Yuh ago feel every part a it.”
I swallowed hard, every part of me screaming to hold the line- but God, that line was paper-thin with him standing this close.
“I think you should go,” I said, voice low.
He leaned in just enough for his breath to graze my ear. “I’ll leave, Miss Proper. But yuh already know mi comin’ back.”
He turned and walked out, slow and sure, like the man already knew how the story ended.
And the way my thighs clenched and my breath trembled as the door clicked shut behind him?
Maybe he did.
To be continued…
